At once there he was again, leading Bread, his now tired and weary horse, to The Prancing Pony. Bread seems displeased with him as he tugs at the reins. Stitches looks over his shoulder at Bread with a sigh as the Bree rain patters on his hood, and his boots slosh through the muck, "Come on now, Bread...I didn't want to bring your friend out in this weather. I won't be here long and then we can go home, alright?"
Bread grunts as Stitches leashes the reins to the stable of The Prancing Pony. Stitches looks up at the building, ever ominous and yet comforting at the same time. He had been humming a tune as he came here, one about home, one about family, love and a sickness of it. He forgets the tune now, frowning as he reaches up to drag the hood from his face. His pale green eyes look sadly upon the building as phantoms of memory paint pictures of him on the stairs, begging someone not to leave. The first time he entered The Pony he was punched for the markings on his face.
Stitches shakes his head and walks up to the door, reaching for the handle before taking a last look at the sky, "Is it morning or night, do you think?" He asks Bread, who nickers at him.
Stitches sighs and shakes his head, "I suppose I've lost track of it. It's hard to tell these days." He says quaintly before tugging the door open, "I hope I'm not too early..."
